


The Clay I've Become

by BeyondtheKilljoy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5375588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeyondtheKilljoy/pseuds/BeyondtheKilljoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So you think if I can not crush a pot, I might not crush you when the full moon comes around this month?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Clay I've Become

“Come on, it'll be fun.” Stiles promised to her. Malia rolled her eyes, knowing that he thought it would be fun but her hands felt uncomfortable to her and awkward. She knew she was bound to mess it up.

“I don't know why you'd think that.” Malia responded easily. “I mean, have you ever done pottery?” She hoped he didn’t reverse the question, because she had spent too long as a wolf to remember if she had ever done it or just disliked the idea of it.

Stiles sighed, running his hands through his hair and down his face. Malia saw the pale skin of his underarm and was swept with the feeling of the need to protect the weaker one.

She vaguely wondered if that would go away and strongly hoped it wouldn’t.

“Honestly?” Stiles said. Malia nodded, glad that he was taking it seriously. “I haven't made anything since my mom passed away. And I thought it could help with your focus and control.”

Malia knew that his mother was a soft spot for him, like for her. Stiles could often become as fragile as a doll when he spoke on his mother, unfortunately, and she wouldn’t let her distaste make her hurt him that way. She didn't let hers get to her so much. “So you think if I can not crush a pot, I might not crush you when the full moon comes around this month?”

He blanched slightly, and Malia winced. She remembered that humans weren't as blunt as coyotes. With animals, the scents rolled off of them and they knew it. They didn't try to hide their intentions or disguise their ideas. Everything was honest with animals. However, they also didn’t talk. Lydia was helping her understand that she can be honest still but say it in a softer way.

“Yes, in a sense.” He allowed. “Hey, will you just—like, just try this out? For me?” His doe eyes opened wide with the plead, his mouth parted in a smile. Malia sighed.

Stiles knew he had her bested, her animal instinct kicking in to please her mate. To make him happy. As he would say, when upset, fuck it.  
\--  
“Pin you hair up.” Stiles instructed.

“Why?” Malia asked, sitting in a room with what seemed to be a bunch of teenagers with big glasses and scarves. It was summer. Why did they decide to wear these things? She briefly thought on Isaac, and what Stiles had told her about him. They all seemed a lot like Isaac.

She still complied, understanding that if she didn’t understand, it was better to follow suit. It was the same as the woods, follow until you learn on your own. “If you lean in when you're working then it'll get in your hair and dry."

"Then I would just cut it off." Malia said simply. It wasn't a problem for her, hair never bothered her when she was a coyote. It was something to keep warm with in the winter and shed in the summer. Besides, the long hair had always aggravated her, too much for her to take care of her.

Stiles paused, halfway up to get them two pottery wheels with undescriptive, overprocessed clay already on them. Malia knew they weren't straight from the dirt, could smell the factory on them. "I think short hair would look good on you." He reached over absently to tug on a strand of her hair.

And...there was that annoying, overly complicated and non descriptive feeling of warmth spreading across her chest again. It wasn’t like he had done anything spectacular that merited her reaction, or that it was a common reaction to her.

"Really?" She locked eyes with him, hearing the steady beat - or, well, erratic but natural for him - of his heart. "I might do it then."

He smiled at that, smiled because she was taking steps forward to become more human. Making decisions for herself, changing for herself, even if it’s for the feeling in her chest. Getting a haircut she liked, even if she only liked it because it would be easier for her to deal with.

She watched him walk away, liked how his scent trailed after him. It was anxiety and dirt on the palms and raindrops. It made her think of springtime for the forest. Especially when they were having sex. He was wearing a blue plaid, one that Malia made a mental note to take when they got home.

The clay was over processed but it was still clay. Smudged on the creases of the sleeve or wiped on the side it could do the trick. It could still give Malia more Stiles and home at once.

"Okay, let's try to be careful with this." Stiles set hers down and then his. He was more muttering, so she knew he was talking to himself.

Malia would do her best to make sure he didn't break anything, even if she still wasn't sure why broken things were bad things. They could still be used, if left up to her. Just because they no longer served the original purpose didn’t mean that they couldn’t serve any purpose. Broken didn’t mean useless to her.

She waited patiently for him to settle back down, staring as he got himself situated. Stiles was rarely shy, even if often embarrassed, and it made things easier for her. He looked over quickly enough, clearing his throat.

Stiles had signed them up to make pottery, not to learn how to make pottery.

"Please tell me you remember some of what you used to do." Malia whispered to him. She didn't want to get frustrated at something she didn't get and start growling because that was the exact opposite of what they were trying to accomplish. She just hated having to learn something new with nothing to follow.

She saw the quiver in his hands, the itch to just do. "Yeah, a little." He said. "You put your foot here, and then pedal so it spins." Stiles was sitting in a semi-applesauce way, with one leg bent in and the other on the pottery wheel. As his leg worked, the top part where the clay was spun quickly. "And then you use your hands to shape how tall or thin or curvy you want your vase to be."

"What if I don't want a vase?" Malia asked. What was she going to put in a vase?

Stiles opened his mouth, before closing it and widening his eyes. "Then I guess you'll have to learn something new because that's all I know."

Honest and blunt. Malia loved it. She felt a thrill in her chest, and a smile danced on her lips.

She was pretty sure she enjoyed Stiles’ scent when he concentrated on it more than she enjoyed crafting herself. His scent sharpened, a cold rain and thin blades of grass. His large hands molded it to the way he wanted, his intensity startling to view.

Malia had barely begun, trying to position herself right to pedal the thing, when Stiles was done. She felt bad, and tried to hurry up, but her nails kept getting snagged on the clay and her foot kept slipping from the petal.

“It’s not working!” She finally snapped over at Stiles. She could sense his shift in attention the second it happened.

“Hey, now, you can do it.” She felt the sharp uptick in his heartbeat. He was worried that she was going to freak out. “You just have to relax a bit.”

“I am relaxed.” She bit back at him.

He crawled over to her, putting his warm weight on her back. It calmed her immediately, like it did the first moon she wasn’t a coyote, which she still had no explanation for. His slender fingers circled her wrists, causing them to go slack against him.

Stiles pushed his fingers between hers, the cool clay falling flat the inside of her fingers now. He bumped his leg up against hers, keeping her leg steady to pedal. “Just breathe and shape. You can’t be so tense or else it won’t come out right.”

“I don’t know how to be not tense.” She admitted, sighing.

“Focus on each muscle of your body individually. Force it to relax and then move onto the next one.” Stiles shrugged behind her. “Soon enough, the muscles will relax and you won’t have to do all of them.”

Her vase was going to have a long neck and a fat bottom. “Does that really work?” She struggled to move so she could look at his face, pausing in the pedaling.

“Works for me.” He stared back, his heartbeat not faltering.

“I’ll try it.” She promised, because that was the best she could do. She glanced back at the hunk of clay on the wheel. “I think I’m finished.”

“Do you like it?”

“I don’t hate it.” She countered his question. “Can we take it home now?”

“No, it has to fired and then we can pick it up to decorate.” Stiles responded. She found herself relaxing right then, melting against his chest. It was really nice.

“Decorate?” Malia didn’t like the sound of that.

“You know,” Stiles started. “Like, painting and putting stickers and things like that on it. Really making it yours.” He saw her face and started laughing, his arms pulling her around to face him. He kissed her, smothering her groan beneath it.


End file.
